


Warm and Fighty

by letsgogetlost



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AmeriHawk, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:37:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8848846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsgogetlost/pseuds/letsgogetlost
Summary: Natasha always said Clint was a terrible patient, but Steve had never seen that in action before.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little Amerihawk sickfic, set in a vague MCU/Fraction mashup world.
> 
> Texts are bolded, **Like this.** Conversation in ASL is indicated by single quotation marks and italics, ' _Like this._ '. The grammar isn't accurate to signed grammar.

Steve Rodgers ignored his phone regularly. It was small and omni-present and it annoyed him more often than not. But he’d come to appreciate it more, especially now that he was getting texts like **Back from the mission, gonna pass out at home (smiley face symbol) (bed symbol)** , followed immediately by **Don’t be polite and ‘let me get some rest.’ Want to see you. Come by whenever.**

So Steve did, heading out to Bed-Stuy from Manhattan as soon as his day’s duties - admin, a briefing on an unstable situation in South America, a school visit - were done. Clint didn’t answer when he texted from the sidewalk, so he was utterly unsurprised when he let himself in and found Clint sprawled on his stomach on the sofa, one leg and arm brushing the floor, dead to the world. Typical. He hadn’t even made it upstairs to his bed, and he was still in the dark SHEILD-issue sweats he usually wore during debrief, rather than the ratty purple ones he wore at home. 

Lucky danced around Steve’s feet, and Steve laughed softly and bent to pet the dog before heading over to evaluate Clint at close range. He hadn’t shifted, though he was still wearing his hearing aids. That _was_ surprising, unlike the couch nap and the being too lazy to change. Steve had never seen him sleep with them in, except during quick naps on missions. He felt a twinge of instinct - something wasn’t right.

Steve crouched by the sofa and frowned at the sleeping man. He didn’t look beaten up, but his breathing didn’t sound right. Broken ribs, maybe? Wouldn’t be that surprising. Steve considered just letting him sleep, but he knew the other man would be happier in his own bed and out of the SHEILD sweats and his aids. So he reached out and shook Clint’s shoulder gently, ready to jump back if Clint woke up swinging.

And Clint did just that, sitting straight up and aiming a wild swipe at Steve. He almost fell over when he did it, and Steve caught him by the shoulder, which only made him fight harder. That was a lot more fighting than normal. Clint often lashed out if he was startled out of sleep, but he always got control almost immediately. 

Steve shifted, grasping the smaller man very carefully by both upper arms and holding tight enough to keep him still. If he kept trying to hurt Steve, he was only going to hurt himself. 

He managed to get himself down into Clint’s eyeline, and met his gaze. “Hey Clint. Hey. It’s just me, you’re all right.”

Clint seemed to be having trouble holding his head up, and he blinked at Steve through glazed eyes. Concussed? Surely the med team wouldn’t have let him go home. Drunk? No, it wasn’t his style. 

It was then that Steve noticed the warmth under his hands. “Damn,” he muttered.

At the same moment, Clint finally managed a croaked “Steve,” then started coughing. 

Steve almost laughed, from pure relief. He was _sick_. Probably the flu or something. It wasn’t great, but it was better than a head injury.

“Hey,” he said gently, still holding onto him. “You okay? You feel like you have a fever.”

Clint groaned. “I feel like craaaaaaap.”

Steve did let himself laugh then, and eased Clint back until he was slouching against the couch back. “I’m going to get you some water.” He said it as much for his own benefit as anything, since Clint wasn’t looking at him, just blinking at the floor.

When he got back, Clint was coughing again, and Steve rubbed his back until it calmed down and he could take the Advil Steve had found in the kitchen cabinet. It would hopefully get his fever down a little.

That done, Clint slouched back on the couch again; he looked like he might fall back asleep. Steve, watching him, noticed for the first time how red his ears were - hot from the fever probably, but it looked uncomfortable, and he remembered Clint saying it hurt to sleep in his hearing aids. He reached out without really thinking, planning to ease one out and then go for the other. 

If he’d been a normal man with normal bones, he would have come away with a broken wrist. Clint moved fast when Steve touched his ear, flinching and striking out at the same time, and coming to rest in the far corner of the couch, a look in his eye not unlike that of a frightened animal. 

Steve remembered, then, how Natasha liked to give Clint shit about what a horrible patient he was. Steve had always thought that was about how reluctant Clint was to go to medical after missions, but now he wondered if she’d had to fight-nurse him through a stomach bug or something.

Steve raised his hands in the universal ‘Calm down, I swear I’m harmless’ gesture, then signed ‘ _Your ears hurt?_ ’

Clint blinked at him, then seemed to come back to himself, and nodded. He touched one himself, and flinched and pulled away. 

That’s what that reaction had been, then. Steve had surprised him and hurt him. The thought made his stomach churn, and he rubbed his fist on his chest, frowning apologetically as he signed ‘ _Sorry, sorry. You should take your aids out. You want help?’_

Clint bit his lip, then nodded slowly and unfurled himself from the corner of the couch. Steve came close, moving slow and staying in Clint’s sightline, and reached up to Clint’s ear again. Clint was breathing raggedly, but stayed very still, in that disconcerting motionless sniper way, while Steve got his aids out. 

Steve turned them off and stuck them on a shelf above the couch where he knew Clint kept them sometimes. The case was probably in his gear bag, and that wasn’t his priority right now. What _was_ his priority was getting Clint in bed and hopefully feeling a little better.

‘ _Want to sleep?_ ’ he asked, and Clint nodded. ‘ _Bed?_ ”

Another nod, and Clint went to stand up; Steve caught him by the elbow before he toppled to the ground. His balance seemed shot. That wasn’t good. Steve needed to get a thermometer, and some medicine, and probably someone to look Clint over, too. But first, bed.

He got in Clint’s sightline; Clint looked rough, flushed - exhausted, and maybe a little worried. He was usually so steady. Without another thought, Steve swung him into his arms and bridal carried him up the stairs, depositing him in bed like a sleepy toddler. 

Clint immediately crawled under the covers and signed a ‘ _Thanks,_ ’ then let out a very indignant noise as Steve pulled away half the blanket nest. That was a good sign. He was acting a little more like himself. It was nice to see him signing, too - actually communicating.

‘ _You have a fever,_ ’ Steve chided, after he put the blankets out of reach.

‘ _Cold!_ ’

‘ _You’re cold because of the fever. You’ll overheat with that many blankets._ ’

‘ _You took my blankets, you keep me warm._ ’

Steve laughed and held up a finger, telling him to wait. A moment later he was back with the glass of water, his phone, and a book he’d had in his bag. He sat down on the other side of the bed, and Clint was immediately up against him. The smaller man felt like an absolute furnace, but, Steve told himself, at least with Clint up against him like that, he could monitor it. Make sure he wasn’t getting any warmer until he could get his hands on a thermometer.

Clint was asleep almost immediately, and Steve pulled out his phone to send some texts. Tasha first; she confirmed that Clint was terrible at being sick - fighty when he was feverish, and whiny when he just felt bad - and said she’d bring some soup he liked the next day. She also told Steve where to find the supplies she’d bought when Clint had been sick the last time. She followed that up with instructions on how to use the digital temple thermometer, which sounded like magic, but a very welcome magic. Steve had had no idea how he was going to get Clint to sit still and accept a thermometer under his tongue, it seemed like the exact kind of thing he would hate.

Bruce was next; he said he’d come and check Clint out in the morning. He also reminded Steve he wasn’t that kind of doctor, but they both knew it didn’t matter. Bruce was one of the few people Clint trusted to look him over, as well as being one of the few people Steve could invite to the apartment. Clint didn’t like people outside the Avengers knowing where he lived.

That done, Steve went to get the supplies Tasha had stashed in a cupboard, and did check Clint’s temperature. It was high, but not dangerous, especially if the Advil worked. And he seemed uncomfortable - coughing in his sleep, and shifting around - but he was resting, and that was better than nothing. 

So Steve sent a final text, telling Tony (and, by extension, Jarvis) that he was taking a sick day the next day, and settled in with his book and a slew of wordy, confused Tony-texts that he neglected to answer. The final one was **Bruce told me you’re nursing Merida. ADORABLE. I want pictures. Or video!!!!** Steve laughed at that and put his phone on silent, tucking it away and lying down so Clint could snuggle closer, his too-warm frame pressed close under the light blankets. Clint usually wasn’t like that. A little too self-aware or self-conscious, a little too insistent on keeping a distance even when they were sharing a bed. It was too bad a near-delirious fever was apparently what it took to get his guard down.

 

In the morning, Clint was more coherent. The pills had brought his fever down a fair amount, and he didn’t like staying in bed, but he was still very unsteady on his feet - Steve had to help him down the stairs to get to the bathroom, and ended up just setting him up on the sofa so they didn’t have to do it again later. He put on Dog Cops for him and went out to walk Lucky and buy applesauce and Jello and other sickday food. 

Around mid-morning Bruce showed up, and after having a look at Clint and listening to Steve describe his symptoms, he diagnosed a chest infection and a double ear infection. That was a bit of a relief, because it explained the pain Clint was having in his ears, and his bad balance. Bruce looked worried, though, and mentioned getting someone who actually knew about ear problems involved, but Clint waved that away. Apparently this wasn’t a new thing for him. 

When Bruce was gone, Steve sat down with Clint. They both had their backs against the arms of the couch, feet up in the middle, and Steve prodded Clint’s shin lightly until he looked his way and set down his Jello so they could talk.

‘ _This happens a lot?_ ’

‘ _No. Sometimes. I get ear infections, and ear infections mess with my balance._ ’

Steve just gave him a frown - a very ‘I’m Captain America and you should have told me about this’ kind of frown. 

Clint rolled his eyes. ‘ _It’s not normal. I had to leave in my aids for three days and nights straight on this mission, and I caught a cold right before I left New York. Bad combination. It will be better in a few days. A week at most. You don’t have to nurse me, I’ll be okay._ ’

Steve rolled his eyes right back. For one thing, Clint absolutely did need someone there, at least until his balance evened out. And then he’d need someone there to occupy his attention so he didn’t go back to work too quickly, or get himself into some other kind of trouble just because he was bored. But Steve also had his own selfish reasons for wanting to stay. ‘ _No. I’m using my sick leave. They give it to me even though I don’t get sick. I’m going to catch up on my reading and on Dog Cops. Take Lucky for walks. Actually spend some time with my boyfriend for once._ '

That made Clint smile, and it was the first smile Steve had seen out of him since before he’d left for his mission. Even nicer than that was when Clint shifted, meeting Steve in the middle of the couch and curling against him, still a little too warm, but extremely present, and yet as unguarded as he’d been in his sleep the night before. This was new, and Steve had a feeling it wasn’t just going to go away after Clint’s fever broke. That thought made him feel so warm inside that, for the briefest moment, he wondered if Clint had, by some miracle, managed to get him sick, too. But no, he was just feeling warm and fuzzy, not warm and fighty. He’d leave that part to Clint.


End file.
